Festivus Fever Dreams

Here's the thing: I have just turned 29. This means I am now in my 30th year of life. Jesus H. Christ. I wasn't prepared to see it in print. I guess it's real now, the truth, no denying it. What am I supposed to do with that truth? Hell if I know. I don't know that there is anything to do. It's just a number and as a rule I don't subscribe to timelines and deadlines on life events or goals. At least, that's what I tell myself and that's what I'd like you to believe about me. But I am nothing if not an unreliable narrator of my own life. 

The sun rises over ATL

With 1/3rd-life crisis (is that a thing?) thoughts like these swirling in my head, I set off once again for a pre-birthday trip to Vegas for Kash and Dan's 3rd annual, and first to be graced with my presence, Festivus party. More on the Festivus merriment in a moment, but first the retelling of a dream. 


On the eve of my departure I had a vision in my sleep that gnawed at my unconscious until it broke through while I was sitting in the plane, high above Florida, somewhere between Del Boca Vista and Atlanta. I had not remembered the dream until then but had felt a nagging neurotic sensation radiating from the back of my brain all morning. When the sensation manifested in conscious thought I recognized immediately where it came from and I didn't want to forget it... I needed a pen and paper, stat! No such luck. I needed to use my phone to take notes! Phones had been strictly forboden by the flight attendants. Out of options and my feeble mind losing grip on the memory of the dream by the second, I had to do it: I reached for my phone, studied it for a second not wanting to break the rules and somehow doom us to a fiery death in a crash caused improbably by Blackberry interference, put my finger on the power button, and finally said my prayers (to what god, I do not know) and hit the button. I had to write down what was going through my head. This is what I wrote:


Last night I awoke in a sweat with my heart pounding and a deep, lingering sense of an insane longing gone unfulfilled, just beyond my grasp. I realize now what I wanted so desperately in my dream. Studying child psychology and seeing kids first hand as a substitute has stirred up a powerful, morbidly curious, narcissistic impulse/need/craving in me to go back in time and view myself as a kid in school. I don't want to just see pictures, I want to literally travel back in time and BE there. I want to see first hand, with my own adult eyes what kind of kid I was. 


I think the fact that I can shut my eyes and remember my kindergarten classroom - where the letter people hung on the wall over the windows, where the gold stars for being good were taped to the cabinet, where I daily rolled out my nap mat and mostly refused to nap - the fact that I can remember these things indicates the near grotesque importance of these years in my life. I mean, that was practically 25 years ago for fuck's sake! Sometimes I think I can't remember much, but it's actually kind of insane that we can remember these times at all, when you think about it.  


And it's not like I was traumatized, it's just I'm so sure that my personality today can be traced back in so many ways to that kid in grade school who now seems like a stranger, or at least an alternate self. So alike and so different from that kid have I become in adulthood... Would I rather be more alike or more different today? I don't know. That's why I want to go back and see scenes from my life, A Christmas Carol style. A Festivus fever dream style.


After I got it out I turned off my phone as quickly as possible (we had not crashed... whew) and quietly slipped into a peaceful ipod induced stupor, disturbed only by the offering and accepting of coffee (blech) and cookies (surprisingly, the best part of flying Delta). Later, I thought more about this craving to see myself as a kid in grade school: was I really formed by my experiences there? Is that when I developed my shy/asshole tendencies? Is it too late to overcome the personality defects imprinted in me at that age? Is trying to come up with material for this blog causing me to think entirely too much about myself? Questions, lots of questions.

One question I have thought about before. Shy/asshole confusion is a big motif in my life, I think. Let's just get this out of the way now: If I don't call or don't talk to you it's either because I couldn't care less about you and I am enough of an asshole to not pretend to care, or I care very deeply about you, but I am too shy to call for fear that I do not mean as much to you as you mean to me. See, I'm either shy or I'm an asshole... you decide. Hint: if you are reading this you can be sure that I care about you... I'll overcome my embarrassment and call you one of these days, I promise. You're all waiting with baited breath, I'm sure.

Festivus Now!

Anyway, enough! Festivus was rad! Kash and Dan throw a helluva party... There we all are in our ugly sweaters (a Festivus tradition). While it may look in the photo that the party had all the trappings of a traditional Christmas event, in reality it was ever so much more. Not too long after this photo we were airing grievances, displaying feats of strength, and winning raffle prizes. I won a very nice tub of popcorn! Three flavors! Also, I believe I was nominated in both the "disgruntled elf" and "Festivus cheerleader" categories. I did not win either of those competitions, but I consider my paradoxical nominations in both categories to be a moral (amoral?) victory. The party unfolded in two parts, the first at a Gordon Biersch restaurant, the second at a suite at the Golden Nugget... the "Vegas Baby Suite"! We were partying in high style, a jug of Costco rum in one hand, a tall cup of "purple drink" in the other. Both halves of the party were a lot of fun and it was great to be back running with the Vegas crew. See you next Festivus!

Bingo! I've got Bingo here!
And Donuts!

While in Vegas I also partook in some poker playing (lost); early morning bingo playing with Dan (lost, but with free donuts to ease the pain); blackjack, because Dan is addicted and attracted me to the game with the force of his addiction (lost... fuck blackjack); pai gow poker (won 6 bucks!); and roulette (won 36 greasy downtown Vegas dollars!). I had been hoping to parlay my rather small gambling budget into a rather small but perfectly adequate fortune, which I would have then shared with all of you. Oh well... maybe sometime in my 31st year of life.

Besides not making a fortune, the only thing wrong with my trip to Vegas was that it rained for one whole week straight, only stopping on one occasion I can remember. The sun came out for about two hours one afternoon when Dan and I were at the Neon Boneyard, which is pretty much what it sounds like, an old-neon-sign junkyard. Turns out they don't let you dance on the signs like they do in Vegas Vacation, but it was pretty cool to see all the old-Vegas signs up close. Look, there's a demented neon duck! Don't see that everyday.

When all was said and done in Vegas I got back on a plane and reconsidered my crazy making desire to be a witness to my own formation. I hope I don't get that particular craving again. Why do that to myself? It's all in the past. I am that I am.

Always double down on 11! or
We're so money!

Seeing my past will not really make a difference to my future. I can be who I am or who I want to be starting now, no looking back. The moral of the movie Greenberg, which no one saw, but which I loved, was: Embrace the life you never planned on. There's a truth I know what to do with.

Ch. 6a - The End of the Beginning (Thank You!)

So, my Hyundai and I have arrived in San Francisco safe and sound.. I didn't get any tickets or flats along the way and I saw a lot of strange, beautiful things, including a lot of my favorite people in the world (we all of us are strange and beautiful, don't you think?). In short, this post and this blog is dedicated to them... THANK YOU!!! Whatever it is that I have done, I couldn't have done it without you.

Thank you Mitch; Aunt Lorrie; Becky, Chris, Brendan, and Doolin O'Brien; Margaret and Mia and Margaret's Grandma; Dan and Kash; and Danie and Jesse. Also, thanks to my New York cousins, Sara and Ellie, and my New York friends Justin and Laura, all of whom offered and would have been glad to let my unemployed ass sleep on their couches before I left. Thanks, too, to my parents, Aunt Arlie, Uncle Stan, Uncle Bob, Buba, Grandma and Grandpa, and all my family in Florida who gave me their continual moral support. I may end up sleeping on their couches one day too, and they'll be more than happy to have me, I know that.

Thank you all from the bottom of my heart. I love you all, and if I ever get a couch of my own, you know you have a place to stay in San Francisco..

In geographical order, from east to west, here are all the homes, rooms, or view from the homes I slept in along the way; my homes away from home:

Looking back on this blog I realize that how I chose to tell my story had a lot to do with where I was at the time I actually got down to telling it.. all the places you see above. History is always presented through the prism of the present I guess, this is nothing new, but even my own past is constantly changing in my mind as I look back on it. Maybe someday I'll rewrite this story entirely and come to wildly different conclusions.. or maybe I won't. Until then, this is only 'the end of the beginning' of the second (or is it the third? fourth? Whatever.) metaphorical book of my life. I don't know how it will all end. But it had to start somewhere.

Ch. 5a - Sin City Redux

After satiating myself with massive amounts of Del Taco (have I mentioned I am a sucker for Mexican food? They did not have Del Tacos in Jersey, I missed them. I draw the line at Taco Bell, though. OK, no I don't.. chalupas are too good to resist), I found my way to my friends' house. Dan works the overnight shift and was just waking up at 10pm. Kash was working and wouldn't be home till midnight. I, of course, was unemployed and thankful to have a place to stay! Kash and Dan (left to right) can be seen in the picture above.. they are about to eat burgers, exciting! Although, Kash looks excited but Dan looks quizzical and in some sort of pain. The burgers were good, however.

I ended up staying in Vegas for a week, in which time I played poker as much as possible at all my old haunts (The Venetian is still probably the best place to play, though the heavily perfumed air is equal parts blessing and curse.. if you win, it is the smell of success and better your clothes smell like that than cigarettes; if you lose, it's one of the most sickening smells on Earth). When I wasn't playing poker I went to a tattoo show (the world's largest.. ouchies!) with Dan and Kash, went bowling with my other Vegas-based buddies, James and David Weiner (I can never not use his last name.. he knows it's funny to say.. he knows I'll always be his little Jew), went to a buffett (used my left-over casino player points, so it only cost $2.70.. but buffets are still mostly a gross, glutinous experience), watched as much Curb Your Enthusiasm as Kash and I could watch (Kash is probably at least as Jewish as I am at this point, he loves Curb and Seinfeld so much), got $1 hot dogs and beer (that's what Vegas does best, baby!), played craps with the weatherman from the CBS Early Show (true story, but they left me on the cutting room floor), introduced Dan to the joys of Pai-Gow poker (he's a natural), and generally tired myself the hell out. It was a lot of fun and all told I won just over $700 gambling over the course of my entire road trip.. that sure helps! See, kids, gambling is a sure path to success!

Now that I am out West once again and flights are pretty cheap from SFO to LAS, I hereby promise to return to Vegas more often for more good times. City Center opens in December and I've gambled in every casino in Vegas, I owe it to myself to keep the streak alive.

Ch. 5 - The Thing of It Is

Leaving El Paso was hard for me. I mean, how could I leave all that Mexican food! But seriously, saying goodbye to Margaret and Mia is always tough and doesn't seem to be getting easier. I guess it's not supposed to. Oh well, as I drove away I was forced to console myself with thoughts of how much money I was going to win in Vegas. Man, I love to gamble! There, I said it, and I don't care who knows it! Anyway, besides the gambling (it's progress that I'm allowing for the possibility that there is anything besides gambling, right?), I was anxious to see my friends that are still in Vegas. It had been only just over a year since I left, but I swear "the Vegas era" feels like a different lifetime to me now. So much (and yet, so little) has happened since I lived there.. and I can hardly believe that I lived there for four years! I can't imagine living anyplace for that long now. Operation Wanderlust is in full effect, people.

Nevertheless, I was driving to Las Vegas for the second time in my life and I could hardly wait to get there. The siren song of Vegas is strong and relentless - to me it sounds like chips being shuffled at the poker table. My friends Dan (another person from Texas, a Jew from Texas at that) and Kash were letting me stay on their futon for as long as I wished.. My plan was to make my big score and get while the getting was good. I just about stuck to the plan, too. But before I even got to Vegas, I had to make a stop somewhere in the middle of nowhere Arizona to see... THE THING!!!

Once again I was sucked in by mile after mile of billboards for a tourist trap, this one simply stating in big bold letters on a yellow sign that I must "see the Thing!" Naturally, they do not tell you what the "Thing" is.. marketing genius. "The Thing, what is it?" as another of the billboards read. Will it be scary? Will it be gross? Will it be human? Will it be lame? Most assuredly, yes, it will be lame, but there is only one way to find out.. stop and "see the thing!" So, I stopped, payed my $1 (even this price hurt me to pay) to go behind the closed door in the back of the convenience store, walked along the path to what I was told is just the first of three (!) buildings holding the thing, opened the creaky door to what looked like a big metal shed, and... I almost don't want to ruin the mystery just in case you ever find yourself driving from El Paso to Las Vegas... but, here's the thing about the "thing":

Yes, that says that this car was believed to be Hitler's car.. "The THING of it is, it can't be proved." So, yep, lame-o. The rest of the "exhibits" in the sheds were similar: old horse-drawn carriages, old Coke machines, old guns, old torture devices with mannequins staged to show how it was done. OK, the place did get weird after a while and I realized it would be completely creepy at night.. a great setting for some horror movie where stupid white teenagers get axed by the local ax-murderer. Come to think of it, while on the surface this place was nothing more than a cheesy conglomeration of leftover crap from bygone eras, I think it was actually more than the sum of its parts.. Anyway, I know I personally couldn't get out of there fast enough.

Onward to Sin City. This was the longest leg of my trip, over 12 hours, and I was dog ass tired when I finally rolled into the valley. Still, I got that old familiar feeling of excitement as I looked down on the city lights glimmering in the desert night, and, just like any good tourist, I felt I needed to cruise the strip from Mandalay Bay to The Sahara. And cruise I did, windows down, arm hanging out, inhaling deep breaths of the gambling mecca of the world.. smelled like victory.. and chlorine from the Bellagio fountain. The traffic was still bad on the strip, a good sign for the economy I suppose. I was a little worried there was gonna be no one there from the horror stories I had been hearing. Anyway, I saw some new buildings and enjoyed my cruise, but I also quickly realized that a year away was not enough for me to find the strip newly exciting upon my return. In fact, just the opposite was true. I returned with a new perspective and, alas, the magic of Vegas may be gone for me now. Not to sound elitist or snobby (I promise I am nothing if not a common man), but it all just seemed so fake to me now. Of course, The Strip always has been nothing but artifice designed to distract you while you lose the family nest egg, and I can appreciate how well it does just that. But the total lack of anything, you know, real was just so apparent to me now and it was already starting to leave a bad taste in my mouth.

Don't get me wrong, I still think Vegas is a great and necessary place, and I think a lot of other cities would benefit by adopting some of the things Vegas does right: everything's open 24 hrs, food and drinks are mostly available for cheap, big beautiful bowling alleys are abundant and games are $1 after midnight. Vegas is a fantastic place to visit, but it's hard for me to imagine living there anymore. The stimulus overload is just too much.. which is weird considering I just came from New York freakin' City, but Vegas has a whole different set of stimuli. I guess it's fairly obvious, but I see now how it might not be the best place for one's mental or physical long term health.

Nevertheless, I wasn't planning on being there long term and I had a lot of lost poker time to make up for.. I wasn't gonna let a little bad taste in my mouth stop me from mainlining as much hardcore Vegas action as my system could handle in a week! But first, I needed Del Taco and sleep.